


Alfred Remembers

by redredrobin



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredrobin/pseuds/redredrobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one-shots about the Batfamily, from Alfred's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memorial

  


I placed the plaque IN MEMORY OF JASON TODD: ROBIN. BELOVED SON, at the foot of the case, and dusted it. 

'No,' said Master Bruce. He had sneaked up behind me in that silent Bat-manner of his. It was a terrible habit, one I had never truly got used to. He was looking at the plaque.

I straightened up. 'Sir?'

'Change it.'

'What do you propose, sir?'

Master Bruce fell quiet, thinking; after many years of service I had grown accustomed to reading his silences. The lines of worry and grief on his face were taut with self directed anger. I feared the worst was coming.

'A good soldier,' he said, finally. 

'That is hardly appropriate for a memorial, Master Bruce.'

He glared at me, expression cold and empty. Looking at his face in those terrible days after Master Jason's passing was like looking into a dark pit. 

'Put it there.' He gestured to an empty spot next to the main computer. 'I want to see it every day.'

'That is also hardly --' 

'Every day, Alfred.'

'As you wish, sir.' 


	2. Brave

No matter what they say about Master Jason now, his bravery had always impressed me. Why, I recall once he had been badly injured in a fight with some hooligans - drug dealers, if my memory serves. Master Bruce had dropped him off at the cave and promptly disappeared, as he was wont to do, so I had patched up the young man’s injuries myself. The poor lad looked so miserable, I had been steeling myself to chide Master Bruce for abandoning him at such a delicate time. I had only just finished the final stitches and was about to leave so the patient could rest, when Master Bruce came into the room. I confess I jumped: I do forget how quiet he can be.

He was still in costume; he walked past me to sit at the foot of the bed, and said quietly, ‘Don’t worry. They’ve been — _dealt with_.’

Master Jason looked up at Master Bruce. ‘I screwed up,’ he murmured. ‘I let you down. I bet Dick Grayson never pulled a stunt like this.’ He looked down at his bandaged arm.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Master Bruce sharply. ‘You’ve _never_ — Trust me, Jay. Dick’s had his moments. I’m just glad you’re going to be all right.’ He turned to me. ‘Would you mind fetching some cookies for us, Alfred?’

‘Not at all, sir,’ I said, and obliged.


	3. rhymes

For the third time in two days, as I came downstairs to the cave with some refreshments, I heard shouting. As I approached the main computer Master Damian tore past me, face reddened from rage. He stopped and stared up at me. ‘Pennyworth! I demand some ice cream be brought to my quarters immediately!’

I nodded. ‘The usual Rainbow sprinkles, sir?’

In answer, the lad stormed off.

Master Bruce was standing near the chair, looking at the Robin helmet which now had a cracked visor. One of the screens at the computer was also damaged. I did not yet know what had transpired: I suspected Master Damian had, perhaps overenthusiastically so, attempted to stop that nefarious ice fellow.

‘Tea, Master Bruce?’ I put the tray next to him and began to pour out a cup.

He shot me one of those Bat-glares of his. I am pleased to say I am quite unruffled by them. ’Long day at work, sir?’

‘That’s not what’s bothering me.’

‘Ah. A young lady, perhaps?’

He looked at the cup for a few seconds, and finally relented to sipping it. ‘Damian was nearly hit with Mister Freeze’s ice beams.’ Master Bruce gestured to the remains of the Robin motorcycle, one wheel was still encased in ice. ‘I decided to bench him. He doesn’t understand.’

‘Master Damian will come to realise that your order was for the best, sir.’

‘Alfred.’

‘Yes, Master Bruce?’

He put down the cup, and then turned to look up at me. ‘Does Damian love me?’

I fear my face betrayed my surprise. ‘Sir?’

‘Does he love me?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’ 

Master Bruce continued talking, as though he had not heard me. ‘I’m not Dick. I can’t reach him like Dick did.’ (Alas - I had heard these same words from Masters Jason and Tim. How difficult it must be, to be a son of such a man.)

‘No one expects you to be Master Dick, sir. If I may be so bold, be yourself - everyone else is taken.’

Master Bruce was quiet. ‘Damian.. won’t respond well to me.’ His tone had returned to being practical - as though he was stating a fact, not an opinion. One that very often riled me. 

‘You owe it to Master Damian to try, sir. For both your sake and his.’

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

‘Ice cream, was it?’

‘Sir?’

‘With rainbow sprinkles?’

‘I believe so.’

‘I’ll bring it up to him.’

‘Godspeed, sir.’


	4. storm

I had been hastening to close the windows around Wayne Manor during an absolutely frightful storm when I heard the unmistakeable sound of a child crying. At the time, Master Dick had only been with us for a fortnight, and I had scarcely heard a sound from him at night, despite all the terrible things that had happened to the poor lad. My heart sank; I hurried to the young master's room. To my surprise, I saw Master Bruce - I can only describe his movement as _hurtling_ \- towards the lad’s bedchambers. Within a few seconds of him entering the room, the crying had stopped, and the only sound that echoed in the Manor were claps of thunder, and my footsteps as I returned to the kitchen: I thought it prudent to make some cookies.


	5. ghosts

The first month after Master Jason's passing, Master Bruce barely spoke three words. He cancelled all appointments he had for the near future, he did not even attend board meetings. Mr. Fox had taken the liberty of informing me that the company's stocks were going down due to rumors about Master Bruce's health and sanity. I had, on several occasions, told him all manner of amusing jokes and puns, but he remained completely unresponsive. When the child services investigator came inquiring after Master Jason, Master Bruce finally spoke - shouted is perhaps more accurate:  he ended up reducing the poor lady to tears. I consoled her by saying he was still grieving. To my relief, she agreed to return at a later time.  
  
This was not the only thing that concerned me about Master Bruce's behaviour. He had become almost exclusively obsessed with the Joker, to the point of blatantly ignoring all other pending and new cases. One night as I brought refreshments, I saw him rise from the chair and go at such speed to the Batmobile that I almost wondered if he had learnt a few things from Master Barry; however, when I saw the open file on the computer, my heart skipped a beat. 

He had found the Joker.  
  
Dear merciful Lord, that was the second longest night of my life. I dressed quickly in one of my disguises, making sure to wear a full face mask. Taking the Ford, I tracked the his utility belt to an abandoned area on the outskirts of the city - an area which had been scheduled for redevelopment. Like most such projects in Gotham, it was slow going, and was now home to squatters. I stopped the car near some bushes and slipped my revolver into its holster.  
  
High, cold laughter interspersed with screaming reached my ears as I approached one of the houses. My God, never before had I heard such a chilling sound. I pushed the door open; foul odours assaulted me. One of them I recognised as blood. I also heard Master Bruce... the growl of his Batman voice was unmistakeable. He was repeating one word: 'Jason. Jason. _Jason_.'  
  
I crept up behind them as quietly as I could. The Joker was sporting a range of bruises and cuts on his face and upper body. 'Ha ha ha,' he said, when he saw me. 'Look who joined the party. You know I thought something was missing, but I expected his new bird to be...' he licked his lips, ' _younger_. hahahahahahaha.'  
  
Master Bruce turned to face me. No, that is inaccurate. A demon turned to face me, casting horrible shadows in the room, its eyes glowing. A demon that wore Master Bruce's face and voice. 'What are you _doing here_?' it hissed. ' _Leave_.'

  
'No.' I answered. My hand was on my revolver. Good Lord, _help me now_. 'I've come to stop you.'  
  
' _WHY_?!' it roared. 'This maniac,' it shook the Joker, who was laughing again, 'killed Jason, crippled Barbara... and God knows countless others - I let him, I let him because of _the rules_ \- he isn't hurting anyone.. never... never again... NO! _ENOUGH_!'  
  
'You know,' said the Joker mildly, to me, 'between you and me, I think he's gonna do it this time.'  
  
The demon let out a roar of rage and knocked its captive unconscious. Then it looked back at me - _through_ me. I realised I was shaking.  
  
'Tell me why I shouldn't just _end it all now_.'  
  
I swallowed, thinking of Master Bruce as a boy - that lost, broken boy who had looked at me with an unflinching conviction that no child should ever have, who said: _I will have vengeance, Alfred_ , in the voice that meant he would never be afraid or powerless again, who had never cried until years later, who had buried himself inside this creature that stood before me. For that lad's sake I screwed my courage to the sticking place and stared down the demon before me; standing up straight, my voice low, and clear.

'Because the Bruce I know put on that costume to save lives, not take them.'   
  
It was as if a cloud had been lifted from him. The wild look left his eyes and he collapsed. I moved forward to catch him. 'I'm here, Master Bruce. I will always be here.'   
  
He responded to my embrace and began to sob uncontrollably. 'What did I do, Alfred? What did I almost do?'

'You didn't, sir, and that is the only important thing. Let's go home.'  
  
 I supported him as we left. I locked the door, hoping against hope that whatever had transpired would stay there, in that awful room, buried, away from us. Forever.


End file.
